Joker the Younger
by Celestia Craven
Summary: Harry is left, alone, in Gotham. Harry decides to become a villain. After all, a nine-year-old has to EAT, you know. Thus, Joker starts a rivalry with the newest villain in Gotham. After finding out his talent, Harry becomes a villain that Vicky Vale...


**Story** : Joker the Younger

**Disclaimer** : I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _Batman_. T^T

**Author** : ChocolateCherryGenesis

**Summary** : Harry is left, alone, in Gotham. Harry decides to become a villain. After all, a nine-year-old has to EAT, you know. Thus, Joker starts a rivalry with the newest villain in Gotham. After finding out his talent, Harry becomes a villain that Vicky Vale names "Joker the Younger". Oh, and he just happens to have the Shinigami Eyes - the ability to see a person's name and exact remaining lifespan.

**Written** : November 27, 2011 - January 17, 2012

**Published** : February 8, 2012

**Author's Note** : Um, I was just noticing that the Harry Potter/Batman Crossovers don't get enough attention, so here you go. Personally, I love the idea of a Joker-raised Harry. It just makes _sense, _in a way. (Though, it is kinda hard to keep Joker a relatively bad person and Harry a good one.) And I added in the Shinigami Eyes from _Death Note_ just because it seemed to fit. The scenes are with the Dursleys, then with a gang leader named Little, then with Joker, then with Batman. Let's see how all of them react to Harry, shall we?

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Out To Lunch, Moved to Gotham

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><p><em>Vernon suddenly stopped the car, stepped out, dragged Harry out of the car, jumped back in, and skidded off - all in more speed than Harry had ever seen from his beyond-fat uncle before. Petunia and Dudley were heard joining him in his celebratory shouts, even a few blocks away where an emotionless Harry James Potter slowly stood up and calmly dusted himself off. - The only thought that crossed Harry's mind was:<em> I **so** should have seen that one coming...

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><p>Harry James Potter knew something was up when the Dursleys smiled at him. Not at his misery, like they usually did. No, no. They just randomly smiled.<p>

He knew that something was going to be bad when they invited him on their paid vacation from Grunnings. They never took him on vacations. Especially _paid_ ones.

And he knew that he was in deep trouble when they arrived at Gotham and the Dursley family disappeared.

[] [] [] [] []

Harry's emerald eyes took in the scene in front of him. Hundreds of people were walking and shoving through the airport. His sight - which had been improved by his careful watching of the Dursleys from a young age - saw things that most didn't. That old man wasn't happy, even though he was smiling. That mother was amused by her three kids, even though she was pretending to be upset. He could tell their names, and when they would die, too. He had been born with this ability. Above every person, in red, floating letters, he could see their names, and their lifespan. A fact that Harry kept to himself.

No one could know that he had the Shinigami Eyes.

Harry's own face, from what he saw in the mirror, had been fashioned so that no hint of his real emotions ever shined through his thick mask. He couldn't see his own lifespan. Only his name. If he was too happy, the Dursleys punished him. If he was sad, angry, or even just tired, they insisted that he was complaining. Either way, both positive and negative emotion were not welcome on his face.

He turned his blank, apathetic emerald gaze toward the luggage and lifted it - unknowingly pushing magic into his arms like he'd been doing for years to keep up with the Dursleys' commands. He picked up all of the luggage - all seven trunks, none of them his - and trudged after Uncle Vernon and the rest of the group, who were all acting like the stereotypical retarded tourists. Seriously, did they ever stop to think about how two-dimensional their characters were? They had no depth. None. Now, if Uncle Vernon had a horrible past and was pushing all blame unjustly toward Harry, _that_ would be one thing. But to do it simply because he liked to make everyone but Dudley and Petunia completely miserable? Well, that was just plain annoying, in Harry's silent opinion.

They walked toward the rented car, Uncle Vernon making him sit on the floor as usual. Harry absently wondered if Uncle Vernon did it to just be _annoying_, or if he was actually betting on the one-in-a-million chance that Harry would fly out the front window in a crash since he was never allowed to wear a seatbelt. Harry was actually daring to think over the latter theory, because Uncle Vernon's driving almost seemed to get worse with time. But, no, Uncle Vernon was too stupid to come up with such a plan. He was just a horrible driver.

Vernon was starting to drive into a darker side of town, causing Harry to think along those lines some more. _Really, Uncle Vernon would surely use some over-used and cliche idea such as abandoning me in the middle of the city that had taken the title of "City of the Highest Crime Rate" from Detroit, Michigan. It surely seems like an idea that would stink of Dursley arrogant stupidity. I'd be glad if they left me here. At least in a city like this, there's abandoned buildings. In fact, there's so many kids missing, that no one would be able to find me._ It really **would** he a positive thing for Harry, since he'd tried to run from the Dursleys on numerous occasions, but was easily found by the local police force and brought back quickly.

Vernon suddenly stopped the car, stepped out, dragged Harry out of the car, jumped back in, and skidded off - all in more speed than Harry had ever seen from his beyond-fat uncle before. Petunia and Dudley were heard joining him in his celebratory shouts, even a few blocks away where an emotionless Harry James Potter slowly stood up and calmly dusted himself off.

The only thought that crossed Harry's mind was: _I _**so**_ should have seen that one coming..._

Harry turned to the nearest graffitied street sign, sighing lightly as he saw that it was completely unreadable. He looked off to the sides, imprinting the surroundings into his mind before looking at the sky. _Only an hour or so of daylight left... _Harry mused.

He studied the buildings, again sighing at the Dursleys' stupidity. They'd left him at the perfect spot, really. Normally, Harry would have gone far, far away from where his relatives were expecting him, but he knew they would never be bothered to come back. Thus, he stepped into the recently-abandoned building and snuck around it for a while, noting the thin layer of dust that Harry knew - from experience in cleaning - had been there for exactly two weeks and... (Harry lightly breathed on the dust, letting the littlest bit to float into the air) two or three days, give or take a few hours.

He finished his thoughts with a decisive nod. This would be his hideout. This would be where he, Harry James Potter, would change everything. He would finally be a child, would finally act his age, would finally eat sweets until he got sick, would finally sleep in as long as he pleased, would finally do _whatever he wanted_. **No one** would stop Harry from having his rightful childhood.

Now, all he had to do was to make sure he'd not get caught...

[] [] [] [] []

Joker sighed deeply, pouting as he sulked in his corner, never mind that the atmosphere of the video arcade hideout was contrasting with his mood._ I really can't help it,_ He thought.

Things were just so _boring_.

Batsy was playing with other villains, and the other villains were no longer fun to taunt any play with, either. They'd gotten old - like bright, loud toys that eventually ran out of batteries and lost their thin, easily-broken, superficial charm. They were all just so _predictable_.

Vicky Vale said the exact same thing every day on the news - some variation of "Bruce Wayne has contributed money to yet another charity, he'd gone out with yet another pretty girl (wonder how long this one'll last?), Batman had taken care of insert villain alias who did insert various crimes and has lowered the crime rate by insert random number that's usually lower than 0.5%, and that - oh! - the Joker was still at large and we all better run for our lives." But Gotham was just too stupid to take the stupid blonde's advice. Which was good for the Joker, really.

His goons acted the same way every day when Joker tried to come up with another amusing plan - cowering and trying to stay on the Joker's bad side. They only did this because the Joker _had_ no "_good_" side. He simply had "bad", "very bad", "very, very bad", "very, very, very bad", "even worse" (which was interchangeable with "amused"), and "you-better-run-for-your-lives-'cuz-he's-lost-all-semblance-of-sanity".

Personally, Joker couldn't really tell the difference. He just knew that he was bored, and if _something_ didn't happen _right_ _now_, he was going to go _nutzo_.

Well, Joker got his wish.

A kid - a _kid_ of all people! - stumbled through the door and coughed at the dust, looking blankly at the Joker and his goons. Then realization dawned. "You're the Joker, aren't you?" He asked the man, with no fear. "_You're_ the one that everyone's all scared of."

[] [] [] [] []

Harry was supposed to do a simple recon assignment. In the few months since he'd gotten comfortable in his hideout and gotten confident in the area, he'd started gathering information. After all, he had to know what was going on if he was going to make sure that he used it to his advantage.

He had started his profession in a bar - one that had allowed him in even though he was _clearly_ below the allowed age and was also _clearly_ not with a guardian.

This was where the Little's Eagles hung out. Though the map of Gotham constantly changed with the different people who came to power and the villains that were arrested, there was a few groups that remained mostly firm in their hold.

One of them was Little. Little was the leader of a gang. You worked for him, you got some cash. However, Harry didn't want to become a low-life. No, no. That would go completely against his overall goal - trying to become a kid again. He'd been a mere robot at the Durselys' for so long that he wasn't quite sure what it was _like_ anymore, but he knew he'd get there eventually. But, I digress. If Harry had any sort of criminal activity on his conscience, he'd never be able to be carefree. Thus, he'd gone to Little.

Little was different from most of the other gangs. Little "adopted" kids and teens. In exchange for a warm place to sleep, food on the table (if they had one), and a little extra cash, various people were expected to be loyal to Little and report the gossip. Little's business was simple - information. The only reason that Little's group was considered an illegal "gang" was because Little himself had been framed for a crime in his youth and was wanted by the police.

Thus, Harry walked to the basement with his usual, calm, steady gait and knocked on the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs.

A young teen, only about fourteen, opened the door, allowing Harry in. The teen wore Japanese-style traditional clothing, and had a katana hanging at his waist. He wordlessly walked toward the back, probably to fetch Little. Harry momentarily thought about the boy feeling a sense of... something - dare he call it destiny? - that was quickly shoved away for now when he heard footsteps coming.

Little then walked out. He was old, thin, and leaned on a walking stick to move. But Harry could see that it was all an act. "Are you looking for a job?" He old man asked.

"No," Harry said, seeing that he'd surprised the man. "I'm not looking for a job. I'm offering my services."

"There is a difference?" The old man asked. His tone was not of an adult mocking a child, but of a curious and wise man thinking over it.

"Yes," Harry said. "I want to work on my own terms. In exchange, I can offer you more than the usual people can."

"What are your terms, child?" The man asked. "And what can you offer that the other hungry children cannot? Children, once they have been fed, are very reliable helpers."

Harry blinked, thinking over the statement. Yes, he'd heard right. The man had been very blunt. He was acting as if charity had nothing to do with the fact that he was moving children to safe, secure homes with more effort than most would go to for mere employees. The man was trying to appear harsh, but it wasn't working at all. Once Harry had seen through the little trick, it only made the man appear even more honorable.

"My terms are this: I will not work for you. I will, instead, choose what I wish to do and what I do not. I am not a Eagle, pawn, employee, or member of your group. I'm on my own. On the other hand, I can offer you information that you didn't previously have access to."

"And what information would that be?" The man asked, leaning against his cane. Neither of them had sat in the nearby chairs. No, this was a deal that needed to be made standing up, for a reason that only they could understand at that moment.

Harry didn't immediately answer, instead pausing and moving to what seemed to be another subject. "The gangs are mostly separate from the villains. The gangs always have to be careful never to accidentally upset a villain by moving where he or she wanted to go. That is the way Gotham works."

Little didn't bother to tell Harry that they'd gone off track, knowing that the deceptively young boy was going somewhere with all this.

"The police force, the heroes, the villains, the gangs, and the public - all with a role to play in this city. And the gangs - even those like yours - have to be careful of the other four groups..."

"If I could give you information on their movements..." Harry trailed off, his intense emerald eyes staring into Little's eyes as Little's own eyes dawned with realization and then hardened with thought.

"_How much would that be worth, Mister Little_?" Harry asked.

"That information would be worth a fortune," Little promptly replied. "More than it's weight in gold. If we knew where the villains were to strike, we could be able to get our men out. We could keep all our members safe. The public, police force, and the heroes are of no concern in regards to safety."

"And if I had a plan for getting that information?" Harry asked, his eyes flashing.

"And if you had a plan for getting that information..." Little continued, knowing that Harry wasn't going to tell him this "plan". "Then I would be willing to pay you hundreds of dollars."

Harry smiled, finally moving past the apathetic look that he'd worn for so long. "The first few pieces of information that I give you will be free. I can't go after the big villains at first, of course. After that, I want two hundred dollars a week for as long as I'm able to keep your men out of trouble. Or, you can simply help me buy a small office building in my name and we'll call it even in a year," Harry said. "I'll leave you now, Mister Little, but expect to hear from me in a week."

[] [] [] [] []

A mere week later, Harry had informed Little that some villain or other - not a very important one, but one that was still powerful enough to be a problem - was going to do some sort of criminal activity, and left a grinning old man behind.

[] [] [] [] []

A short while after that, Harry informed Little that an armed bank robbery was going to happen in a short while. It had been Harry's first big piece of information, and Harry had been lucky with finding it. Beginner's luck, really. With that warning, Little was able to place the men he had in the police force near the bank, stopping the whole thing.

After saving the life of the members he had in the bank, Little had bought Harry the small office building - being shocked when he realized that Harry had been living in that building. He had first, of course, been made to give his word to _never_ - under _any_ circumstances - tell anyone where Harry's main base was.

[] [] [] [] []

How was Harry doing it?

Quite simple. The only people who knew how the police worked were the police. The only people who knew how the heroes worked were the heroes. The only people who knew how the gangs worked were the gangs.

The only people who knew how villains worked were the villains themselves.

Thus, Harry used the knowledge from his time at the Dursleys to keep his tabs on the villain world - by being a villain. He wasn't a murderer, robber, or any other type of _usual_ boring villain, no. He was the villain that targeted villains, heroes, the police, and the public alike.

He was the villain that pranked the city at every turn.

They day that the power plant suddenly released completely harmless fumes (made from three thousand, one hundred and ninety-seven boxes of Kool-Aid dropped into the huge fan) and the city thought that something had blown up and various officials were acting like chickens with their heads cut off shouting about the end of the world while there were posters all over Gotham itself that contained a notice saying that the fumes were harmless and not to be alarmed causing said various officials to look like complete fools?

Yeah, that was Harry.

The time that the evilly evil evil-villains of evilness had gathered to plot evilly evil evil-stuff of evilness, agreed on a sufficiently evilly evil evil-plan of evilness, and had stood up to shake hands on it (evilly, of course) only to find they were super-glued to their chairs while pictures were taken, sent to someone, and were then posted online on his incredibly-popular blog?

Again, Harry.

The time that the mayor found himself waking up from bed only to find himself on the roof of City Hall wearing his pajamas and live cameras from every single possible angle connected to all local television stations having recorded him sleep-talk about purple and green polka-dotted cheese and pink cows that flew and followed people around until the person said a tongue-twister twenty times fast?

All Harry.

Thus, the police were annoyed, the heroes were completely insulted, the gangs treated it like all the villains' usual antics, the public were vaguely amused, and the villains themselves were completely undecided.

So, when Harry found word that some villain was setting up his hideout nearby, he quickly checked it out - assured that his fighting skills would keep him safe, like usual. Once he'd started eating, it turned out that the Dursleys had really made him get some muscle. _Lean_ muscle, yes. But muscle nonetheless. Plus he had that strange power that allowed him to do what others couldn't.

He walked into his office building hideout and pulled on a pair of black slacks with colorful patches, a black turtleneck, black boots, a top hat (with large, colorful, hat pins stuck in it like Robin Hood's red feather along with a price tag tucked into the long, orange ribbon that fell to his knees), a sash with spools of thread stuck on, a domino mask, and his long, brown, tattered jacket that reached to his knees. His villain costume was fashioned to bare similarity to the Mad Hatter from _Alice in Wonderland 2010_, which was his favorite movie. (A/N: A domino mask is one that is black but has some sort of film over the eyes to make them look white... I _think_.)

He then placed various other little accessories where they belonged. He tucked in a few shuriken into the side of his boot and he placed on his ring with sewing pins stuck into it. He put a few GPS chips on various places, in case he had to come back to a specific place. Then he left for the more abandoned area of the neighborhood that the villains seemed to like so much.

He crawled past the wood that was barely blocking the entrance to the abandoned arcade, stepped into the entranceway, and then opened the second set of doors.

He stepped out, the dust from the action flying into his nose and causing him to cough. _Definitely at least ten years, _Harry mused. Then he looked upwards, catching sight of a bunch of guys in clown masks and another guy sulking in a corner. Then he blankly stared for a while, before having an "Aha!" moment.

"You're the Joker?" He asked. "_You're_ the one everyone's scared of?"

Harry had been warned to be careful of the Joker, more than anyone else. Everyone was always talking about how insane and yet utterly brilliant the Joker was. And now, he was in front of Harry himself.

Harry wasn't scared. Really, this guy wasn't fat like the Dursleys, and at least the only thing funny with his face were his scars and makeup. Really, most people would have at least shuddered at seeing them, but Harry was already used to strange stuff. He was just thankful that the Joker's face didn't look like it could turn purple with rage like the Dursleys' could.

The Joker stood up straight, grinning widely and causing his scar to stand out even more. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" He asked in a strange way of speaking, some words a little louder or more expressed than others, and the others a little quieter. "Why aren't you afraid, kid?"

The boy just blinked. "What's to be afraid of?" He asked.

The Joker suddenly grinned even more, knowing that he'd been given the perfect chance to show off. "You see these _scars_?" He asked, his voice funnily acting up the slightest bit at the word "scars".

"Well, I got these scars when..." Joker paused a moment. Most would have taken this as simply trying to put the words of a story into the best form, but Joker was coming up with the entire story from scratch.

"When I first started as a villain. I was respectable before that, you know," He said. "But my mentor went _crazy_ when he went bankrupt. He came after me, and he wanted me to feel his pain, too. Said it was my right as his apprentice. And that's how I got these scars. He said to me: "Now, wherever you go, people won't be able to even _look_ at you without shuddering!". And he was right, you know."

Harry blinked. "You know, I've got my _own_ scar, and my scar has it's own story," He said, pushing his fringe to the side and showing a lightning-bolt-shaped scar. Then he started on his own story, dramatically telling the tale just as Joker had.

"You see, my parents were drunk drivers, and died in a car crash. Because of that, I was dumped on my relatives' doorstep. I suppose it's because no one wanted me," Harry said.

"And I soon learned why. You see, I'm different from everybody else. Whenever I look at someone, I can see their true name, as well as their remaining lifespan..." Harry said, glancing above Joker's head and looking at the red, floating letters. "For instance, I know _your_ real name, Joker. And I know the exact year, month, week, day, hour, minute, and second in which you will die."

By this time, Joker seemed to be having two reactions at once. It didn't seem possible, but on one hand Joker was almost scoffing at the notion, one eyebrow raised challengingly as if to say "you expect me to believe that?". On the other hand, Joker was sitting in front of the short ten-year-old with his legs crossed, having a look of scared but thrilled attention at his words and nodding like a young child.

So, Harry continued his story for his attentive one-person-audience. "And they made it their business to put me down at every turn. I was starved, worked a life as bad as a slave's, and then abandoned in Gotham, where they hoped I would soon die. _Fools_!" Harry scoffed. "In this city of crime, I am in my element. I am able to make the most of the situation, and know I've met even the Joker and lived to tell the tale..."

Then Harry returned to his almost apathetic state, since he was still trying to force himself to act like he wanted again, instead of the emotionless face he'd donned with the Dursleys.

Joker frowned. "You don't really think you're going to _live_, do you?" He asked.

"Of course," Harry said. "In exchange for my awesome fictional story."

Joker pouted. "It didn't really happen?"

"Of course not," Harry said. "What kind of villain would I be if I told everyone my life story? A pretty pathetic one, really."

Joker charged. "You liar!" He yelled like a little kid. "You lied-lied-lied-lied-lied! Meanie!"

Harry made a sweeping bow. "I regret to inform you that I must take my leave, so I bid you... adeiu," With that, Harry suddenly disappeared, having transported himself to his office hideout with all the energy he could muster. He fell onto his couch with a sigh, completely exhausted. (A/N: "Adieu" is French for goodbye.)

Joker looked with shock at the place where the kid had once been, staring for a moment before laughing, kicking his feet up with his great guffaws. "I like that kid!" He exclaimed, eyes bright.

[] [] [] [] []

Batman turned to the nameless, unimportant robber, knocking him unconscious, tying him up, and dropping him in front of the police station like with all the other criminals - neatly wrapped and packaged as if it were Christmas.

He then used a grappling hook to pull himself to the rooftop, continuing his diligent patrol.

But, before he could do so, he stopped. Standing directly on the roof he was about to jump to, someone was standing motionlessly, silent, and waiting. Waiting for _him_.

"Who are you?" Batman asked.

The person moved forward, jumping to the roof Batman was on, causing his coat to billow behind him. Batman jumped backward and into a defensive stance.

"Who am I?" The person said.

Batman's eyes widened as he caught sight of him. It was only a _kid_. The kid was wearing a top hat and a brown coat, as well as other little details that Batman couldn't quite make out in the dark of night.

"Who am I but one boy in the large world? Who am I but just another citizen of this country? Who am I... but the newest _villain_?" The boy asked. "I am the Mad Hatter, Batman. I am the newest prankster and trickster of this fair city of Gotham."

Batman's eyes narrowed. He was no fool, and he didn't underestimate the boy. "You are behind the latest string of crimes?"

The boy's eyes widened in his domino mask, which Batman could now see. "Crimes? They really call them that? Huh. They're all so _ungrateful_," He huffed lightly. "I'm just shaking things up a bit. Besides, those little tricks were all harmless, anyway."

Batman frowned. "It caused panic to millions of people."

"No, no," The boy said. "I keep putting up notices so that the public aren't alarmed. No, no. _My_ targets are either important officials, the police, the heroes, or the villains. Can you _really_ tell me that you weren't amused for even a _moment_ when you saw those officials acting so stupid?"

Batman walked forward, reaching for the boy. "Not for one moment," He lied. "It caused chaos."

"Really?" The boy asked, grinning widely with a mischievous wickedness. "So you didn't think that it was educational for even a moment to find out that nearly seventy percent of the government officials of Gotham were willing to let the millions of people in the city die as they ran away by themselves? When they thought that Kool-Aid was poisonous gas, they all tried to abandon Gotham. As Gotham's protector, doesn't that seem like something you want to know?"

Batman paused. He _had_ thought of that, actually. He'd wanted to know just who exactly to be able to trust among them a long time ago, but when he saw them, he'd finally known who he could trust and who he couldn't. With the "Mad Hatter's" constant questions, he thought back to when the first of many criminal pranks had been reported on live news.

[] [] [] [] []

_Flashback to a Few Months Ago_

[] [] [] [] []

Bruce Wayne woke up yawning as his faithful butler shook him awake frantically and unceremoniously shoved his rich, half-asleep employer in front of the nearest access to the Morning News.

Mister Wayne sat in the living room, switching on the TV and suddenly wide awake.

"To all citizens of Gotham City," A computerized voice ran out. "Please don't be alarmed. If you look our your windows right now, there's a ninety-nine percent chance that you'll see pink fumes."

The TV had a few panning clips of said pink fumes, as well as a moving section of text at the bottom in addition to a little title that read "Report on Pink Fumes". The moving text simply ran the other current news items.

"I apologize for taking your time," The computerized voice said. "But I assumed that the citizens of Gotham City would appreciate the knowledge that these fumes were created by throwing boxes of _Kool-Aid mix _into the largest fan in this city - the power plant's fan. I repeat: do not be alarmed. The fumes are _completely_ harmless."

The computerized voice continued. "However, this information is currently being withheld from the government sector of the city, and they have been informed that the pink fumes are toxic. At this moment, they are debating the best course of action."

Live clips of the government officials all doing just that were played for approximately the next hour, with the computerized voice adding commentary at times. Usually very _witty_ commentary. The officials mostly tried to abandon the rest of the city, but they were also humorously panicking, causing Bruce Wayne to chuckle the slightest bit and shake his head.

He'd known that most of those people were completely incompetent, liking to host parties more than do their duties. It was just a nice change to see some real, true personalities instead of the perfectly-formed "public" masks they usually wore.

Bruce Wayne had already left for Wayne Industries, gathering most of his employees in the lobby where the News was playing on the huge flat-screen television above the receptionists' desk. He stood calmly at the front of the group, keeping an eye on the news but going through his most important paperwork. He tried to remind himself that this really _was_ a serious matter, but he couldn't help the thought of: _Serves them right!_

Even though Bruce Wayne had to officially disapprove, there was a _reason_ that Batman hadn't fixed everything yet. No one was getting hurt, and no criminals were currently around. He'd just go over it later and try to find some clues... Though he knew he'd not put much effort into it yet. It was still worrisome and alarming that someone could _do_ all this - the broadcast, the Kool-Aid, and the information-blocking - but he went after villains. Not pranksters.

Of course, he'd already verified that the pink fumes were what they were supposed to be, but you couldn't really _blame_ the guy for that suspicion. A guy suddenly does all _this_ and you _don't_ suspect him of lying about the nature of the strange, pink fumes...? Yeah, that's just _naive_ and _stupid_.

Finally, the computerized voice announced. "Well, I'm sure that I just realized who I'm gonna be voting for when election day rolls around, hmmm? But for now, my trick is over, my dear audience. I _do_ so _love_ playing _tricks_, and Gotham is the perfect place to do it in. So many potential victims... After all, I can't target the _innocent_..." He said, almost in absent thought. Then he sighed and brought himself back to the present.

"Well, I bid you a fond farewell, Gotham City. My name is Mad Hatter, and I hope to see you soon," The computerized voice's background switched over to a black top hat placed against a white background. "I leave you with only one question: _how is a raven like a writing desk_?"

Then the picture of a silhouette of a top hat disappeared slowly, and Bruce Wayne blinked a few times. _Mad Hatter? As in _Alice in Wonderland _by Lewis Carroll? Who _**_is_**_ this person? _He thought. Then he sighed lightly and announced that his employees would have to return to their offices.

[] [] [] [] []

Present Day

[] [] [] [] []

Harry smirked. "I can see that you really didn't mind that after all; but I do agree that I might have gone a little too far to make a point. The thirty percent who actually tried to save the city didn't deserve that. But I had to make an example, you see. A villain is only as good as his first crime, you know. It's the one everyone will remember him by."

Then the boy paused, before morbidly adding. "Well, that, and the last crime he commits, since that usually means his or her death..." He trailed off. "I expect to live quite a while though, Batman."

Batman frowned. "And why's that?" He asked, figuring that if this "Mad Hatter" figure wasn't putting anyone in danger at the moment, then he really had no business causing a scene. Thus, he didn't mind talking a bit.

"Well," Harry said. "If I can fool even the great Batman, then I think that I've grown strong enough to protect myself."

"Wha?-!" Batman exclaimed.

But it was too late. Suddenly, the Mad Hatter disappeared into thin air, no smoke or fog, allowing Batman to see a reflection in a darkened window. There, still standing on the roof, was the Mad Hatter.

The Mad Hatter smiled. "An illusion, Batman. My strongest one. If I can fool even you - even for a moment - I know that I have that precious extra second that will allow me to escape," The boy said, walking over to the edge of the roof that was a story higher than Batman's roof, making Batman's vision of him get smaller and smaller. "I'll always be a step ahead," He said, tipping his hat.

Batman jumped onto the building, but the Mad Hatter was gone. He growled slightly, feeling insulted. But then he saw a little note on the roof. He scanned it for anything toxic - very unlikely, at this point, but still possible - and then picked it up.

_Batman,_

_I'm sorry to have to run, but I have things to do, people to play tricks on, and info to gather._

_Though you must feel insulted, know that this is a compliment, if nothing else. I wouldn't have tested my most powerful technique on my weakest rivals or enemies. No, I went for one of the strongest first. And, if you're holding this, it means that either A, you've caught me (extremely unlikely - no offense), or B, I succeeded and have to leave._

_If it's A, know that I'll easily escape and, quite frankly, cause you more trouble than I'm worth._

_If it's B, then you should know that I selected you because I know that if I failed with the Joker, I'd probably be dead (he already almost killed me the first time we met, though I think he was impressed). I know that if you catch me, I'll still be alive - though most likely in a _**very**_ well-guarded cell._

_Best Regards,_

_~Mad Hatter_

_PS. How is a raven like a writing desk?_

The last line was in much larger, cursive, looping script, almost acting like a sort of stationary on top of what looked like a old-fashioned receipt, like what might have been used to buy old-fashioned hats years and years ago.

Batman sighed, returning home to run the paper for fingerprints or any other sort of clue. He knew he wouldn't actually _find_ anything, but still. Just in case. The pranks were really starting to get on Batman's nerves. He could see the humor in most of them, but being a victim was something else entirely. He was still feeling insulted.


End file.
